


The Middle

by bartsy



Category: Holby City
Genre: Gen, Referenced/Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:12:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bartsy/pseuds/bartsy
Summary: Set between "Past Imperfect" and "The Heart is a Small Thing," Zosia helps Dom move out of the flat he shared with Isaac.





	The Middle

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Zosia’s voice is soft, but the fingers clutching at the steering wheel are white, gripping too tight.

Dom sighs. They’ve been through this a hundred times— when he’d told her, when they planned it, on the car ride over— and he’s not planning on changing his mind.

“I mean it, I can call Ollie and he can help me. You don’t have to go in there.”

They’re sitting outside of Isaac’s apartment— he never did get comfortable enough in it to call it his own— preparing to pack up his stuff and move out. He’s already got a new flat rented out and ready for him, but Zosia’s not entirely on board. She’s been insistent that he doesn’t have to face Isaac’s flat at all, completely willing and eager to pack up his things without him. She’s also hesitant about him being on his own.

His new flat is a one bedroom— a welcome, if not terrifying change from his past two homesteads. Zosia had invited him to live with her and Ollie permanently, but he had decided against that pretty quickly.

Bless her heart because he knows that she’s trying her hardest, but he’d rather sit in the hospital for another five years than live with them. Zosia is undoubtedly his best friend, it’s just that he doesn’t think that he can stomach living with the loved-up couple any longer.  

“Can we just get this over with, please?”

“Fine. Fine, let’s go.” They both get out of the car, pulling bags and cardboard boxes from the boot. Dom had tried telling Zosia that they wouldn’t need that many boxes, that in the original move between the old flat and Isaac’s, a lot of his belongings had been relegated to the charity shop, since they’d taken up too much space and didn’t match the existing decor of the flat.

They walk up the two flights of stairs, dread building in Dom’s chest. He rethinks his original stance about running back downstairs to let Zosia do this on her own. He can’t face this place again, can he? There’s too many memories, too many objects and space and rooms that remind him of what Isaac did to him. They get to the front door and all he can think about is how he should’ve left sooner. There had been so many times where he’d had the chance to leave— the flat, Isaac, everything— but he just...

He never did.

Dom tries to push the thought out of his mind. There’s nothing he can do about it now. The counselor that had come to see him after his accident had tried to grind that thought into his head. Just because he hadn’t left Isaac before things had escalated doesn’t diminish how strong he is for standing up for himself. He did, eventually, get there and that’s what he has to remember. At least that’s what the counselor keeps telling him.

He digs the door key out of his pocket and they step inside.

The first thing he notices is that everything is just as he left it. It’s funny, considering he can’t even remember the last time he was inside this flat— must’ve been at least two weeks, probably more. After he was discharged from the hospital, he stayed at Zosia’s per her demand or simply slept in the on-call room, making his excuses. He didn’t want Zosia or Sacha or Essie worrying about him, but sometimes he needed to be alone.

The ever present crushing desire of being alone had burned through him pretty quickly, hence the move.

Upon closer inspection, he notices that certain things are out of place. The flat was so clean and bare to start with, it was hard to see at first, but Isaac’s stuff was also gone. All the soulless decor was still there, reminding Dom that this place that was meant to be his home had always felt more like a hotel.

Everything Isaac did was for show, never for comfort.

Dom ached for his old flat with Zosia and Arthur. He missed the ill-matching wall colors, the comfortable couch, the general mess of the whole place. It was the only place that had actually felt like home.

_Pathetic, Dom._ Isaac’s voice echoes in his ears and he tries not to shake. The thought rests there and settles into his mind.

“Where do you wanna start?” Zosia’s voices rustles him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. They’re not here for him to reminisce about everything that’s gone wrong, he reminds himself. He wants to pack and leave, forgetting about this part of his life as quickly as he can.

He shrugs blandly, holding onto the single box in his hand. “There shouldn’t be much.”

“Okay, well, how about I do the bathroom and you take the bedroom. We’ll do a sweep around when we’re done in case we missed anything.”

They won’t. Dom’s existence in the flat pretty much only extended from the bedroom and the bathroom— the two places guests would never see or where his stuff could be easily hidden.

He nods and walks into the bedroom, acutely aware of Zosia staring at him as he leaves. He’s trying to be good ‘ole fun Dom, like nothing ever matters and he’ll be fine no matter what, but it’s harder than it used to be. He can’t just fake it like he used to.

Funny, that. He used to be so good at lying. At making himself whatever he needed to be because he needed to survive. It’s been building and building for years now, since he was a teen and changed his name all the way up until Kyle had dumped him for being a liar. He thought Kyle had been the wake up call that he needed, but the constant pressure of keeping up the facade, of pretending that everything with Isaac was perfect, just reminded him that he’s still who he thought he left behind.

He hadn’t realized just how exhausting keeping up a facade was until he didn’t have to do it anymore. 

Leaving the bedroom door open as he steps inside, Dom becomes acutely aware of the tremors in his hand. Their bedroom hadn’t been particularly brutal for him— Isaac hadn’t ever hit him in there— but it had been a place of shame for him. It had been hard for him to sleep in that bed, knowing Isaac had cheated on him in it, but even worse were the nights after a bad day, when Isaac had been mad at him (for whatever reason he had that day) and had attacked him— verbally or physically— and he was forced to lie in bed that night and pretend that everything was fine.

It reminded him even more that he never left. Isaac had hurt him in every way imaginable and he’d just lied next to him like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t wanted to rip his skin off every night. Like the love he and Isaac had shared had been normal.

It’s hard for him to believe, to be honest, that love wasn’t meant to be like that. Hadn’t his father treated his mum the same way? But he’d always hated Barry for being like that— for cheating, and yelling and the one time he’d seen him slap her, but never mentioned it because he wasn’t _supposed_ to see it and his mum hadn’t seem to bothered— but Carole hadn’t deserved it.  

The “ _but you do”_ hangs heavily in the air.  

The bed is still perfectly made: the sheets, the blankets, and the pillows are almost exactly how they’d left them the day of the incident. (Dom has to scoff at his own use of the word, but he almost prefers the sugar-coated “incident” that Sacha had been using instead of naming it what it was.) He wonders how long Isaac had stayed in the flat before moving out. If he’d slept in their bed without him — and with someone else— or if he’d taken to the couch like Dom knows he, himself, would’ve.

He hates himself for feeling jealous at the thought of Isaac with someone else and hates himself even more for wondering if Isaac misses sleeping next to him as he does, but he can’t help it. They’d been together for almost a year and it’s hard for him to let go of that, even after everything Isaac had done to him.

He starts at the dresser, pulling out his t-shirts and underwear quickly and shoving them into his box without a second thought. He sees the framed picture of him and Isaac sitting on top; their smiling and happy face taunting him. Isaac left that there on purpose, whether or not to taunt Dom for once being happy or to remind him that they _had_ been happy and that Dom was wrong for leaving him. 

He ignores it, taking the box over to the closet, where the rest of his stuff resides. All of Isaac’s clothes are gone, leaving Dom’s threadbare wardrobe in place. It feels wrong that Isaac’s perfectly tailored and expensive press-fresh shirts, trousers, vests, and jackets aren’t there, but Dom’s cheap and simple clothes remain.

He pulls his shirts off the hangers and shoves them in his box. He just wants to get moved out as quickly as possible, the air in the flat becoming increasingly unbearable. His skin feels hot and his hands are shaking. A surge of claustrophobia pushes through him and he tries taking a deep breath.

He can’t go running out of there because it proves that Isaac been right: he’s weak. If he can’t do a task as simple as packing his belongings, then how can he do anything else? How can he go back to work and face the people who’d seen him at his lowest? At his most pathetic.

The only reason he can even face Zosia right now is because he’s seen her at her lowest, too. That’s how it was with them— and Arthur, he thinks— they get to know the worst parts of each other and love them anyway.

Trying to reconcile his friendship with Zosia and his relationship with Isaac had been hard. Isaac had seen his flaws and used them against him, made him feel stupid and pathetic and childish. “I love you,” he’d say “despite everything else.” The “everything else” haunts him. He had meant “I love you even though I hate you” and it made Dom’s skin crawl.

But at the time, Dom hadn’t heard it that way. He’d been so in love with Isaac, so eager to receive his love, that he ignored the part of him that _knew_ this wasn’t what love was meant to feel like. Isaac had convinced him that no one else would bother with him— that someone who hated parts of him would be the best he could do.

But Zosia had never been like that. She knew him as a manipulative liar, as childish and bratty, and didn’t hate him at all. She might not have agreed with everything that he did, but she still managed to support him anyway. Through anything.

It felt wrong. Of course, he loves Zosia _and_ her many flaws, so it shouldn’t be hard for him to imagine that someone might feel the same about him, but it was.

Isaac had done that to him. Made him doubt his own feelings, his relationships, even his intelligence. He made him doubt everything he thought he knew.

The counselor told him that Isaac had done that on purpose— that he wanted to break Dom down so that he’d accept Isaac’s abuse. So that he’d never leave him. The counselor had also told him that whatever Isaac had said and done to him to make him doubt himself wasn’t true. His feelings were real, his friends and family loved him, and he’s exactly where he belongs. He worked hard to be a doctor and he can’t let Isaac take that away from him.

Dom knows that he’s a long ways away from accepting that. He had hated himself even before Isaac had come his way (“Isaac had chosen him on purpose,” he heard the counselor whispering to Sacha, “Dom was vulnerable and Isaac used that to his advantage.”) and bouncing back from Isaac’s emotional torment would be hard. His physical wounds were healing— just a few bruises here and there and the cut below his eye would take more time than the rest— but the emotional wounds were still open and raw.

_“You’re broken.”_ There it is, Isaac’s word ringing in his head, but the voice sounds remarkably like his own. He’s grateful that Zosia volunteered to clean out the bathroom. He can’t— and doesn’t want to— look at himself in the mirror, afraid of what he’ll see.

He feels the tears welling up in his eyes and rubs at them quickly. “C’mon Dom,” he says to himself “get it together.”

He pulls the rest of his shirts off their hangers, leaving the closet completely bare. Then he notices the shoebox sitting in the back corner. He vaguely remembers shoving the box back there in secret, hoping Isaac wouldn’t find it. He picks it up and sits on the bed, unable to stop himself from opening it up.

The first thing he sees is a picture of him, Arthur, and Zosia. It had been taken the night Dom and Zosia had taken Arthur to the museum after his girlfriend had dumped him. Zosia forced them to stand together, cheek to cheek, and took a selfie in front of one of the model ships.

“Bathroom’s all done. You use way more hair product than you need, by the way.” Zosia’s bright and calming voice fills the empty bedroom and Dom almost starts crying again.

Isaac’s flat is so suffocating and isolated, he forgot there’s a world outside it. His whole world feels claustrophobic, like there are walls constantly caving in on him, but Zosia always helps him out.

Even during his darkest days with Isaac, one conversation with Zosia could lift his spirits tenfold.

“What’re you looking at?” She sits on the bed next him, leaning over to see the picture.

“You, me, and Arthur.” He smiles fondly, wishing he could go back to when it was the three of them.

“Why’s it crumpled?” Dom doesn’t remember exactly when it had happened— sometime after Isaac had stomped on Arthur’s medals, but before his parents visiting him.

“Isaac, he, uh..” Dom struggles to find the words. He doesn’t want to talk about what Isaac had done to him— what Dom had _let_ Isaac do. He doesn’t wanna think about why he had to hide the box in he first place. “Well, y’know, he’s Isaac.”

There’s a silence; Zosia doesn’t know what to say. She hasn’t actually said much about Isaac or what happened at all. She’s seemed focus on helping Dom move forward and distracting him as best she can. Which is the same thing he did when she was getting her treatment, so he doesn’t blame her.

“You remember this?” She takes the picture out of his hand. Dom looks over at her and sees her eyebrows are scrunched down. “God, he was so annoying that day. Still, it was good to see him smile.”

“Yeah.” Zosia’s entire body stiff, like she was holding in a breath. Like she does when she’s upset.

“What?”

“No, it’s nothing.” She puts the picture into the box quickly. “Are you done in here?”

“Zosh…” He doesn’t understand where this has come from. Talking about Arthur had never been a sore point for them, agreeing that they would remember him fondly and never be afraid to bring him up. He was their best friend and it’d be a shame to forget that. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She stands up, putting the lid back onto the box. She takes the box off of Dom’s lap and tosses it haphazardly on the bed. “If you’re done, we should get out of here.”

“Zosia, stop.”

“No, this isn’t about me, Dom. I’m here for _you_.”

Dom knows that feeling— of watching your friend go through hell and trying not to let your own feelings overshadow what they’re going through. He’d been scared for Zosia and he’d been devastated for Arthur, but he’d never let them see that because it wasn’t fair. He had to take care of his friends, not the other way around.

Zosia’s just trying to take care of him.

He realizes now that he might’ve been wrong. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to have to think about Zosia’s (or Sacha’s or Essie’s or Hanssen’s) feelings. He can’t carry the burden of other people when he can barely make it through the day himself.

On the other hand….it’s a nice reminder that he has people who care about him. He doesn’t need a constant play-by-play of how his friends and family feel, but after how hard Isaac had pushed to make him believe that he was the only one who cared about him, seeing them upset on his behalf isn’t the worst thing in the world.

“Please, just tell me. Is it…”  He takes a breath to try to form the words and Zosia’s eyes flicker over to the box. “Is it Arthur?” She makes a quite, noncommittal noise. He’s not entirely sure what to say back. “What…why?”

“Because he’s dead, Dom!”

“That’s hardly news.”

“You’re not mad? He’s dead and we’re here and you’re _hurting._ I had you and Arthur, Arthur had us and Morven, but you? All you have is me when you deserve more than that.”

He doesn’t say anything. She’s pacing back and forth and he doesn’t want to interrupt whatever thought process she’s going through. She’s wrong, he knows she is.

It would’ve been nice if Arthur had been there to help pick up the pieces, but Zosia is more than enough support that he feels he deserves.

“You just...if Arthur had been around, none of this would’ve happened. Isaac took advantage of your grief. And who caused your grief? Arthur. He is _selfish_ for dying.” He stops her mid pace by leaning forward and grabbing her hand.

“Okay, stop.” She does and looks down at him. “This isn’t Arthur’s fault.”

It’s his. But he doesn’t say that out loud because he knows Zosia will only respond by trying to placate him. No matter what anyone says, it feels like it’s his fault. He can’t believe anything else just yet.

“Isaac and I— we would’ve happened no matter what. He was a registrar, remember? And handsome _and_ gay. You know as well as I do that I would’ve eventually gotten involved with him.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And I don’t think Arthur being around would’ve helped any.”

“He was always more level-headed than us. You would’ve listened to him if he had warned you about Isaac.” He knows that she doesn’t mean to sound self-deprecating, or to turn the situation on her own failings, but he doesn’t mind. He’d rather know what’s going on in her head than wonder. “You needed rational Arthur, not me. You’re telling me that you wouldn’t have listened if Arthur had been the one to try to convince you that your relationship was…”

She trails off and he lets her.

“You haven’t wondered what might’ve happened if Arthur was still alive?”

“Sometimes, but, honestly? I probably would’ve dug my heels in more. Arthur always needed to be right all the time, which was one of his more annoying traits. If it _had_ been him, I don’t think I would’ve listened...I wouldn’t’ve wanted him to be right.” She laughs quietly, like she doesn’t want to, but knows that he’s not wrong. He’s still holding onto her hand, so he pulls her down back onto the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know if you know this, but Isaac hated Arthur more than he hated you.” He entwines his fingers through Zosia’s and pulls their hands a little closer to himself. “He never wanted me to talk about him, so I didn’t. And when I did, well...” his mind flashes back to picking up Arthur’s broken medal off the dirty ground, of clutching it in his hand when he’d visited his grave. He thinks about Isaac crumpling up that photo in his hands and throwing it at Dom. He hid his box for a reason and it wasn’t because _he_ wanted to forget Arthur. “He was jealous of how much I loved Arthur and if Arthur had actually been alive, I’m not sure what Isaac would’ve done.”

Try to sleep with him, maybe. Hurt him, definitely. Physically, emotionally, professionally— any way that he could.

“The only person Isaac hated more than Arthur was me.” He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but he can’t take it back now. Zosia squeezes his hand tighter.

“Besides, could you imagine Isaac and Arthur on the same ward? They would have hated each other, even if I wasn’t there.”

He actually smiles at the thought. Arthur and Isaac had both been so sure of themselves, so eager to prove that they were the smartest in the room. But Arthur had been fun to compete with because he always felt, underneath the banter and constant jibes at each other, that there was love and respect underneath it.

Arthur had competed because _he_ wanted to be great. Isaac had done it because he wanted to tear other people down.

“If Arthur wasn’t already dead, Isaac might’ve killed him.” He says it as if it’s a joke, but neither of them laugh.

They sit in silence for a minute, letting the silence and emptiness wash over them. They both miss Arthur— more than either of them are willing to admit.

Zosia takes one long breath. She stands up, puts the “Arthur box” into Dom’s bigger, packing box, and holds her hand out. “Okay. You ready?”

He nods, taking her hand and lifting himself off the bed. He picks up the box with his belongings and they walk out of the bedroom together. The items Zosia had collected from the bathroom are in a bag on the kitchen counter. She takes it, then heads to the door. She must’ve been feeling the same bout of claustrophobia that he’s been living with the past few months, because she’s out of there as fast as can be.

He stands in the doorway, looking over the empty flat. He doesn’t feel like he’s leaving anything worthwhile behind. Not an item, not a memory.

He doesn’t want to think about Isaac anymore. He’s angry and tired and still in pain from his fall. His head feels heavy and his legs are weak. There’s nothing he can do about the past, he can’t change what happened to him. He just has to move forward.

He flicks the lights off and lets the door to his past shut behind him.


End file.
